


In Fair Oak Hills, Where We Lay Our Scene

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Family Drama, Forbidden Love, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, or chuck is you decide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:56:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9594287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (From ancient grudge break new mutiny,Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.)A deep grudge between John Winchester and Chuck Shurley becomes a problem when John sends Sam and Dean to the same school as Chuck's sons. Chuck gives his sons (and nephews) one word of warning: be nice. John gives his sons a warning, too: stay the hell away from the Shurleys. But when Dean and Sam both find themselves wanting to be close to two Shurleys in particular, that could all go wrong.And pretty much everything else could follow.





	1. Chapter 1

“The Winchesters are arriving tomorrow.”

“Great,” Lucifer said monotonously, and carried on with his careful dabbing of his paintbrush. He found it surprisingly easy to ignore the fact his brothers were stood in the doorway, arms folded across their chests, looking like some cheap boyband poster.

“Not great, really,” said Gabriel. His tie was loosened and his top collar undone- not unusual during free time, but next to the immaculately dressed Michael and Raphael, he looked out of place. Lucifer, of course, had abandoned his tie completely, and somewhere between lessons ending and walking to his dorm, his shirt had come undone. He saw Michael grimace as he noticed, but he kept quiet.

“It won’t really make a difference,” Lucifer said. He didn’t object as Gabriel huffed a sigh, leaving the boyband pose to flop down on his bed.

“Lucifer’s right,” Michael said, a phrase that earned a hard sigh from Raphael. “Dad said to be nice to them, to treat them like anyone else, so-”

“This isn’t a ‘daddy said it, so it must be true’ thing,” Lucifer interrupted, the gentle dabbing of dots onto the book in front of him not matching the heat behind his words. “This is a big fucking school. They won’t make a damn bit of difference- hell, we probably won’t even see them.”

Raphael snorted. “That’s bullshit, Lucifer. You fucking know that.”

“Language,” Michael said sternly, because swearing meant more coming from Raphael than it did Lucifer.

“Oh, fuck off, Michael,” Raphael said- and he, too, left the boybanding to Michael, perching on Lucifer’s desk and ignoring his glare as the desk shook.

He stared at the book in front of him, at the carefully printed words telling of the origins of Aboriginal art, the modern uses, the history. He carried on with his careful dabs, making the background a colourful pattern in the style of Aboriginal art, and closed his eyes as he heard Michael give a huff, which almost certainly meant he was about to start talking.

“Father-”

“Fuck _off_ , Michael!” Gabriel exclaimed.

“Fuck off all of you!” Lucifer cried, dipping his paintbrush into the dirty paint water and flicking it at Michael. “I just wanted to finish my homework- but no, Michael comes to give The Winchester Speech again. I get it, Michael. We all do. Forget that they’re dad’s rival’s kids and treat them like anyone else, because Saint Dad said so. Noted. Now leave.”

None of them moved, which didn’t surprise him; but it didn’t make him jump for joy, either.

“I did that homework last year,” Michael said eventually. “Just an essay. Everyone else did an essay. I got an A plus. That shit’s not necessary.”

“Well, bully for you,” Lucifer muttered, his dabs becoming more forceful. “When are you graduating, again? I need to start counting down the days.”

“Stop your bickering, children,” Raphael said, moving as though to knock Lucifer’s hand to get his attention. “This is serious.”

“I thought the whole point was it _isn’t_ serious?” Gabriel pointed out, and Lucifer picked up the book and threw it to the ground, allowing him room to bury his head into his hands.

“Gabriel’s right.” And now Michael decided to join them inside Lucifer’s dorm, closing the door behind him and sitting down on the floor. “We need to just be nice to them. Direct them if they’re lost. That type of thing. Our only problem with them is between our father and theirs. We don’t bring it up with them, we don’t act upon that fact. We were all new once- let’s not make this hard for them.”

Lucifer’s eyes met Michael’s, and as usual, nothing was given away in his brother’s eyes. But Michael was the oldest- out of the four of them and their cousins- and he’d been the only one to really be alone in their school. A year alone, before Lucifer was sent and their cousins decided to hop on the private school train. In everything, really, Michael had been the first and the only one to face it alone.

“Michael’s right,” Lucifer said. His brother’s eyes stayed the same, but his mouth quirked up at the edges. He let that rarely said statement hang in the air for a while; then, “have we told the cousins?”

Michael leaned forward at this, probably excited at the prospect of ‘we.’ It promised teamwork between the four of them, and god knew Michael was desperate for teamwork.

“I’ve told Castiel,” he said, speaking only to Lucifer. “I told him to tell his brothers, too.”

“We’re seriously going to keep calling them cousins?” Raphael asked, fiddling with the bristles of one of the paintbrushes. “They’re third or fourth cousins. It’s a bit of a stretch at this point.”

“Family is family.” Michael stood up, pulling at Gabriel’s arm, and giving Raphael a stare until he moved off the desk. “We’ll leave you now.”

“Much appreciated.”

“Sleep well, Lucifer,” Michael said, letting Gabriel and Raphael leave first.

“You too.”

“Sleep soon, too,” he added, and Lucifer acknowledged it with a nod. And then the door was shut, family meeting over, as you were, et cetera. He gave his art book an unwilling look before standing to switch the light off. He could finish it in the morning. Or during lunch. Or any time other than right then. He didn’t want to think of the Winchesters. He didn’t want to think about how polite he’d have to be, or how he’d have to watch his favourite brother struggle against his gut instincts by giving them placid smiles and directing the way to classes.

As for himself… well, he’d have to decide whether he cared about the Winchesters or not. There were those family ties, of course, but still. He wasn’t entirely composed of his family.

He undressed quickly, falling into bed soon after and switching out the light.


	2. Chapter Two

Dean’s hand patted Sam’s arm as they were drove closer and closer. “We’ll be alright, Sammy.”

“They outnumber us,” Sam muttered, not looking at him. “There’s- what- six of them?”

“Seven, actually. But only four are Shurley’s sons.”

“Fantastic,” Sam muttered. Dean grimaced. He might be loyal to no end when it came to his father, but even he couldn’t see the _point_ of all this. Send them away, sure- but to the school the Shurley family attended? There was only so much he could understand when it came to his father. He just hoped he had a plan bigger than having their presence mildly annoy Shurley’s kids.

“Just remember what Dad said,” Dead told him as they approached the school. “Don’t get friendly with them. Just don’t engage with them. Alright?”

“Whatever,” was Sam’s response- so angsty-teen that Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes, glad Sam was looking out the window.

It still felt alien to him, letting other people do things for him. Despite being only a year younger, Sam seemed pretty used to it- he stood out of the car the moment it pulled up, not even bothering to ask whether his luggage would be brought up. He already knew it would be. Dean tipped the driver before following him.

 He didn’t understand his brother- not at all. They’d grown up in the same small house, had had the same future laid out for them by their father- join the army, because there was nothing else this earth had to offer them, and nothing else that they could offer the earth except for a couple of years of service and a good aim. They were new money- the newest- and Sam seemed to accept the change from the plan to ‘do whatever makes you happy.’ He’d chosen basketball, because he couldn’t think of anything else, and he didn’t see a reason not to.

He caught up to his brother easily, considering he’d stopped walking and was stood before the school, expression unreadable.

“Sammy-”

“That’s them.”

Dean followed his gaze to see who he was looking at. Sure enough, there were the Shurleys, and who he guessed were the three cousins. They were gathered around the smallest one, who was showing a boy who looked like he should still be in middle school a trick with a yo-yo. Dean stood, frozen in place. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to be who his father needed him to be- not right now.

He needed to prepare.

“Come on,” Sam muttered, tugging on his sleeve. Dean had every intention of following Sam, of finding a way around them without being seen.

But Michael looked up, and Dean didn’t need to prepare anymore. He was back in every courtroom, back in every moment of his youth that he had hated the oldest Shurley brother for who his father was, how nothing seemed to shake him, how he had a different suit for each court date while Dean rotated his shirts and ties, trying not to feel ashamed of his shabby suit and ungelled hair. Michael felt it, too. He could see it in his eyes.

Michael lifted his hand in a wave Dean didn’t return. He wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders instead, taking a few cautionary steps towards them. The others didn’t notice their approaching until Michael said a few quick words into Raphael’s ear that the rest of them seemed to hear. One of the ones Dean didn’t recognise- one with dark hair- patted the shoulder of the youngest-looking one, sending him on his way. Six of them remained, but Dean wasn’t looking for a fight. Not yet.

“Michael,” he said as he approached.

“Dean,” came the cool response from the eldest Shurley brother. He laid a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer hadn’t changed much- he still looked faintly amused as a Winchester looked ready to tear out a Shurley throat, while the Shurley stood calmly, collected, quiet. Michael had the hair of his father, and the confidence. Dean was willing to bet everything he had, everything he was, in saying that Michael had never wanted for anything, and never been denied anything he wanted.

“It’s good to see you again,” Michael said courteously, once it was clear Dean wasn’t going to say it.

“That’s not what you said before,” the dark-haired one muttered, face creasing in confusion. The smallest one smirked.

“Well, I’m not exactly thrilled about all this, either,” Dean said, ignoring the probing eyes of the dark-haired one.

“We can agree on that, then,” Michael said, ever-polite. “This isn’t exactly ideal. For either of our families.”

“It’s their dad’s fault, though,” the other one Dean didn’t recognise said, lips turned in a mockery of a smile. “We can agree on that.”

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Dean said, letting the heat beneath his words come through.

“Balthazar,” he said. “Pleasure. Come on, Cas. Let them battle it out.” He tugged on the dark-haired one’s sleeve, and Dean ignored the parting stare he was given.

There was a long pause as they stood opposite each other. Raphael’s stare was as unsettling as ever, and Michael’s as cold. Gabriel just played with his yo-yo. Lucifer wasn’t looking at him, though- his eyes were fixed on Sam. Dean shifted where he stood, ready to give him a thinly-veiled threat- and then Lucifer rolled his eyes, and Sam’s shoulders lifted as he suppressed laughter. Dean’s arm shot off his shoulder in an instant, and Michael’s hands came up immediately in a defence position.

“Just stay away from us, alright?” Dean said heatedly. “I don’t want trouble, and I don’t want to be friends, and I don’t want to be enemies. Alright?”

“ _You’re_ the one who came over here, genius,” Gabriel pointed out, the yo-yo spinning around once, twice, before dropping up and down again.

“Keep your mouth shut, midget. This isn’t anything to do with you,” he spat. Raphael took a threatening step forward, and Gabriel looked up, the expression on his face reminding Dean that he was, indeed, a Shurley.

“Don’t speak to my brother like that,” Michael warned.

“Yeah, keep your fucking mouth shut.”

“Language, Rapha,” Michael said, and Raphael’s shoulders tensed. Dean smirked.

“That’s right, Michael,” he said. “Keep a tight lease on your doggies. Don’t want them getting away, do you?”

Michael didn’t say anything to that, and Dean took the opportunity to give them a parting glare before leading Sam away. They said nothing as they walked to the office, collecting their dorm keys and assuring the receptionist that, yes, they had the uniform, and yes, of course they were going to wear them to class tomorrow. They said nothing as they walked to the point where they would have to split up, Dean being housed with the other seniors, Sam with the juniors. Once they had reached the point, Dean spoke.

“You were awfully quiet back there,” he said pointedly. Sam didn’t look at him. He just looked at the key in his hand.

“This whole thing’s stupid.”

“Maybe,” Dean agreed. “But we need to do it. For Dad.”

Sam still said nothing. Dean patted his shoulder.

“Just stay away from them. Alright?”

“So long as you do,” Sam muttered in response. “Michael’s no wimp, and you don’t suit a black eye.”

Dean smiled at him, turning his key around his finger. “No one does. Just- stay away from them, alright? Especially Lucifer,” he added.

“Okay.”

“Promise me, Sam.”

“I promise.”

Dean ruffled his hair, smiling as Sam tried to bat him away. “Good kid. See you at dinner.”

“See you,” Sam said, and turned to the junior dorm corridor.

“Let me hear you promise again!”

“I promise, Dean!” Sam called, and Dean walked towards his own corridor, laughing.


	3. Chapter Three

The Winchester kid was staring at him.

Because having to sit through five hours of maths a week wasn’t enough, apparently, now he’d have to sit them opposite someone he was _not_ meant to talk to. The desks in Oak Hills Boarding School for Boys were predominantly arranged into twos as opposed to single rows- probably to try and justify the absolute mint parents were charged per term. The teachers liked to remind them that the desk arrangements encouraged communication and team work often enough, anyway.

He concentrated on the worksheet in front of him instead of on the Winchester kid, even though he could see the boy’s eyes flickering to the side every few minutes to study his face before dipping back down. If it had been someone else, he would have kicked their chair. But it wasn’t- it was Sam Winchester- and he couldn’t exactly deny him curiosity, given he probably had no idea about their families, if Dean Winchester’s protective grip on his shoulder had been anything to go by. He glanced up just once, meeting his eyes, pencil still on the page. Sam didn’t back down- but unlike his brother’s bull-headed belligerence, this was difference. His face was relaxed, not looking for a fight or expecting one. He was just looking.

Lucifer didn’t know how to feel about that.

He raised his hand in the air. Sam immediately got back to working, pencil hastily scribbling numbers, punching numbers into his calculator faster than Lucifer could keep up with. Lucifer just watched him, mildly amused. Did he really think that Lucifer would tattle on him for- what- looking?

But he was in a new school, he supposed. Teachers might not be able to do much about staring, but if Lucifer announced it loudly enough, the people around would hear. And there was nothing worse than being labelled as the school freak.

“Yes, Mister Shurley?” the old teacher asked as he walked towards, a piece of chalk between his withered fingers. Sam’s head bent down further, and Lucifer could see a reddened cheek through a gap in his hair.

“Can I go to the toilet?” Lucifer asked politely. He realised his mistake as soon as the old man straightened his back, a bushy eyebrow raising.

“’May,’” he corrected. But thankfully, that was all. He gave a nod, and Lucifer shot up from his chair. He could practically _feel_ Sam’s sigh of relief as Lucifer left the room, making a point of not stopping to whisper in anyone’s ear about the new kid.

He wandered around the corridors for a while, not having a particular need for the toilet, or a destination in mind. He just knew which teachers would let him leave for a couple minutes each lesson, no questions asked. It was knowledge he’d generously passed down to Gabriel, and hinted at to Raphael. He often bumped into Gabriel during the periods they both had the more lenient teachers, and he’d once watched from a window as Raphael had stepped outside for five minutes, standing happily in the sun before returning inside like the little weirdo he was. As he passed by an American History classroom and saw his brother, with Dean Winchester only a few rows back, he considered ‘hinting’ at it with Michael, too. God knew he could use a break.

 

He headed back after a couple of minutes, not wanting to draw attention to himself by staying gone for too long. Sam’s head snapped to the door as he walked in, and he shocked both himself and Sam as he sent Sam a smile, small and surprisingly soft. Sam blinked in surprise, and Lucifer didn’t exactly blame him. If Balthazar had been a year older, and had been sat in the classroom, he would have just walked back to his seat and said nothing. But he wasn’t. There was no one in the classroom who would go running to Michael or Dean over a smile. Sam seemed to realise that at the same time, because after a few moments of hesitation, he returned the smile.

They worked in silence after that, though not as uncomfortably as before. Lucifer gave Sam another smile as they packed up when the bell went, glad he wouldn’t have to face another class until tomorrow. Sam returned the smile more easily this time around, eyes crinkling at the sides.

He got the feeling, as he walked to his dorm, that he was just leading Sam back to his room. Not in a dirty way- just in the way that, despite the people who were walking between them, there was only really Sam in the corridor. And himself, of course. That much went without saying.

Sure enough, just as soon as he’d closed his door, there was a knock. He opened the door, and exchanged his third smile with Sam that day before stepping aside to let him. He saw the mild panic in Sam’s movements as he looked for a place to sit- the bed was too suggestive, the desk chair too… Lucifer’s. Lucifer stepped in front of him, gesturing to the chair anyway, taking a seat for himself on top of the desk. Sam sat down in the seat, fiddling with the end of his school tie in a way that let him know that he wasn’t used to wearing ties. Michael _had_ told him that the Winchesters were new money, as opposed to the sweepingly grand old money the Shurleys were. Maybe Sam wasn’t used to being made to wear formal wear every day of the week, but Lucifer had grown up in a family that shipped kids off to private school as soon as they could, and went to formals on the weekends. He was plenty used to it.

“It’s like living in a raincloud,” Lucifer said. Sam looked up in surprise, and Lucifer paused for a moment. He wasn’t quite ready to dive into the deep end, using shaky analogies to try and explain to Sam what it was like growing up in a family that valued prestige over love.

“The school, I mean,” he said. “What with the uniform and all.” Not untrue. Not untrue at all. With the only splash of colour being the school badge- an oak tree atop a green hill- on the tie and blazer breast pocket, walking through corridors with every last person being decked out in dark grey could get pretty miserable. He wished the school uniform designer could have chosen a nicer colour. Maybe blue.

“Some people have white trims on their blazers,” Sam said, gesturing to Lucifer’s own dark grey one. “Is it just seniors? Your brother has it. So does your cousin, right?”

“Ah,” Lucifer said, giving a nod. “They’re prefects. Doesn’t mean a lot- just that they have to keep their uniforms extra neat, and patrol corridors every so often.”

“Oh,” Sam said mildly. “That sounds like a waste of time.”

Lucifer dipped his head in a nod, smiling. “It is, really. The blazer trim looks nice, though.”

Sam nodded, moving to fiddle with one of Lucifer’s paintbrushes instead.

“I take it you’re not a maths person,” he said after a pause.

“How’d you figure?”

“You didn’t take the bathroom key with you before.”

Lucifer blinked in surprise. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “Did anyone else notice?”

Sam shook his head slowly, putting the paintbrush back and looking up at him instead, face calm, like it had been before.

“What type of person are you, then?” he asked. “Like- what type of things do you like?”

Lucifer wasn’t thrown by the question. It didn’t feel forced, or unnatural, or like Sam was trying to go too deep too quickly. It felt like they were old friends, friends that stretched back more years than either of them had, and this was just a continuation of some long-forgotten conversation.

“Music,” was his immediate response, gesturing to the unplugged keyboard leaning against the oak armoire. “I like Latin. And Ancient Greek- though I have to go into the town for that class. There’s not enough people who want to do it here. Literature, I suppose- poetry, anyway. And plays. Art.” Sam held up the paintbrush he was fiddling with before Lucifer could nod at it, and they shared a smile.

“What do you want to do?”

Lucifer hesitated for only a moment before responding.

“Music, probably,” he said. “Go to Julliard. And if I don’t get in there, I’ll probably major in literature somewhere else. I’ll probably end up living in New York, anyway. No better place for wannabe-artists.”

“There’s Paris,” Sam pointed out. “And London. Dublin. Florence. C’mon. Broaden your horizons.”

Lucifer smiled. “I suppose.”

“What would you do?”

“Not sure. Be a failing playwright-poet-musician-artist of some sort.”

Sam laughed at that, and Lucifer couldn’t help but smile at the sound. “’Of some sort’? That’s pretty specific.”

Lucifer joined him in laughing, noting how Sam had leaned back in the chair, the last traces of unease gone.

“What about you?” Lucifer asked, as per custom. “What do you want to do?”

Sam shrugged. “I used to think something in Law,” he said, and the tension that should have appeared with those words just… didn’t. Their respective fathers were on neither mind. The same went for their brothers. “But now… I’m not sure.”

“Where would you want to live?”

“Not sure,” Sam said, and then glanced up, his smile almost playful. “Maybe New York. Or London.”

Lucifer’s smile stretched at that. “Or Dublin, or Florence, or Paris?” he teased, nudging Sam with his toe; and for the second time that day, Sam laughed.


End file.
